


It Starts in the Marketplace

by WhosInTheAttic



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Planet, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Series 1, Tattoos, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, The Doctor Dances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhosInTheAttic/pseuds/WhosInTheAttic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after The Doctor Dances, the Doctor and Rose explore an alien market, where she decides to get a tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Starts in the Marketplace

“Where on Earth has Jack gotten to?” Rose muttered, standing on tip-toe to scan the crowd, holding the Doctor’s leather-clad elbow to steady herself.

“We’re not on Earth, Rose.”

She turned and gave him a frown, “Clearly,” she said flatly, pointing at the turquoise sky and two moons overhead. She planted her heels firmly on the ground again and used her free hand to poke him in the ribs, “It’s a fig’re of speech,” she grinned, “quit tryin’ to wind me up, ‘cos it’s not gonna work.”

The Doctor mirrored her smile, and she marveled at the sparkle in his cool blue eyes. This could very well be the happiest she’s ever seen him. After Utah, and watching her father die (twice; she tried not to dwell on that), the outcome of events in WWII London were exactly what they both needed. The petty jealousies from Satellite 5 were behind them now.

“Jack can take care of himself. Why don’t we have supper?”

Rose took his offered hand and smiled. After she’d watched her father die that second time, they’d retreated back to the TARDIS. The Doctor had held her in his arms on the jump seat as she sobbed. He had no words of comfort, but she didn’t need words; his arms around her were enough. She’d buried her face into his jumper and cried, while his palms rubbed soothing circles into her back. She’d gotten tears and snot all over his green jumper, but he’d said nothing; not so much as an eye-roll or an off-handed comment about ape mucus.

“You buyin’ this time?”

“Just as soon as I stop at a cash point,” a wave of the sonic, and they would the credits necessary. 

She had gotten to know her Doctor quite well. She felt a flutter in her belly at the thought; _her_ Doctor. It was a bit true, wasn’t it? After all that had passed between them, she would be daft to spend another minute believing that there weren’t feelings there. _“I could save the world, but lose you,”_ his words echoed in her mind, making her smile.

They snaked their way through the crowded market, hand in hand. “Doctor?” Rose said hesitantly after eyeing the lines of shops.

“What is it?” he paused and turned to her.

“I was wonderin’,” she started, pausing as she felt herself losing her nerve. The Doctor only looked at her expectantly, “I thought maybe,” she fiddled with her earring, “Maybe I could get a tattoo.”

“Here?” he gestured with his arms at their surroundings, lifting her hand with his.

“Yeah. ‘S that okay?” she paused, “I mean, is it safe? Clean and all that?”

He looked at her seriously, and for a moment Rose was afraid he was going to talk her out of it, or refuse her (sort-of) request. Relief swept over her when a smile split his face. “It’s better than safe! This is the sixty-third century! They don’t even use needles anymore. Zero risk of infection.” Then he was tugging her to his side to continue their search for a cash point.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Shortly after supper, Rose and the Doctor stood inside a little tattoo shop. Rose flipped through a holobook of pre-drawn art; she arrived at a page of English text; works like peace, happiness, joy, love, romance, and courage; she furrowed her brows. “What?” the Doctor asked.

“I can’t see what it really looks like; it’s all English.”

The Doctor chuckled. “I can fix that,” he was standing slightly behind her and raised hands to her temples. As he pressed his fingertips to her skin, he leaned in and asked gently, “May I?” His breath ghosted across her ear and gave her a little chill.

“Yeah,” she fought a smile. He reached into her mind for just a moment; the sensation of his mind against hers startled her and she gasped. He pulled his hands back as if she’d burned him.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she said, turning to face him, “It just felt, it felt—“

“Frightening?”

“No. It wasn’t bad, yeah? Jus’ different. It surprised me is all,” she gave him a small smile before turning back to the holobook. It felt _intimate._ She’d been caught unawares as if he’d accidently brushed a hand against her bum or something. Her heart beat a little bit faster at that thought, and the lingering sensation of his mind at the corner of her own. She turned her attention back to the holobook; now she could make out all of the alien script, the twisting weave of the fonts; she looked through several pages, the designs getting more and more elaborate. A few times she flipped back, comparing designs and weighing her options. Rose was well aware of the Doctor standing just behind her, _almost_ too close (well, too close for someone who didn’t want him much closer) as she finally made her decision. “I like this one,” she said, tapping the thin, filmy screen of the holobook. “What does it say?” she turned to face him again, moments too late to catch the amused grin on his face, and he held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. She nodded, and he repeated the process.

This time when he moved into her mind, he was a bit less nervous. He removed the block he’d placed in her mind, allowing the TARDIS’ translator to reconnect, and before he slipped out, he mentally caressed her cheek. Rose sighed, and as he opened his eyes again, he saw that she was touching her cheek. He smiled. “All sorted.”

“That was,” she paused for several seconds, “nice.” It was better than ‘nice,’ it was very nice.

“This one, then?” he tapped the text she’d chosen, and Rose eyed it then giggled.

“I can’t get _that_ tattooed on me!” she laughed, looking at the translated print that read, “sex goddess” before flipping back several pages. “How about,” she thumbed through the pages until she came to one full of butterflies, “This one!” she said triumphantly, landing her index finger on a green iridescent butterfly, “It’s really pretty.”

“Good choice,” he nodded. He didn’t have the hearts to tell her that that species of butterfly was a popular fertility symbol on this planet.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

After volunteering a drop of her blood for calibration and programming purposes, and submitting to a full-body scan for mapping, the Doctor and Rose stood in the waiting area. He pointed at the diagram that hung on the wall next to them, “See, they use the collected data to program the nanobots,” he grinned, paying the cashier.

“Here you are, Miss,” the attendant said, handing her a vial containing a small green pill before setting a glass of water on the counter, “Consume the nanobots with water. Your tattoo will be fully applied within the hour.”

Rose opened the vial and tipped it into her mouth, allowing the pill to fall onto her tongue. She then washed it down with water. “’S that all?”

“That’s all,” the Doctor grinned, offering up his elbow. Rose smiled and threaded her arm through his, thanked the attendant, and they headed out into the night.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

As the night drew on, the crowds thinned out, making their passage on the streets of the alien market that much easier. The air was suddenly brisk, and Rose shivered. Immediately the Doctor shucked off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Of course you can. You can and you will,” he smiled at her. “Besides, I won’t be cold; superior biology, me,” he smiled. Now that she was protected from the alien weather by the jacket (and surrounded by the smell of the Doctor that lingered on it) she didn’t want to relinquish it. Instead, she slipped her arms inside the sleeves. She stretched her arm so her fingers could poke out of the too-long sleeves and brushed her soft digits over the back of his hand, seeking to hold it in hers again.

“Maybe we should get back to the TARDIS,” she said softly.

He sniffs, “Should do,” he squeezed her hand, “It smells like rain.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Once inside the TARDIS, the Doctor asked Rose, “So where did you have that tattoo applied?” he asked, half-expecting her to say, _“On my ankle, of course,”_ but instead she just smiled.

“Would you like to see it?” she asked shyly.

“Absolutely,” he replied, but Rose didn’t reach for her trouser-leg and reveal the green insect. Instead, she carefully unbuttoned her jeans, pulled down the zip, and hooked her thumb into the waistband of both her trousers and knickers, and slid them partially down her hips, revealing her butterfly tattoo just inside her left hipbone. He knew he should look away. He knew it. He was staring, his mouth open slightly like a right git, but he couldn’t help himself; there was so much skin! So much of _Rose Tyler’s_ skin. He swallowed hard.

“What d’you think, Doctor?” she said, a second, unasked question sitting behind her eyes. She felt as if she was radiating heat, and hoped she wasn’t blushing.

“It’s lovely.” His eyes were still fixed to the expanse of skin at her middle. His fingers twitched as he thought about reaching out to tug at her knickers; pull them down just a bit further, run his fingers across her mons, between her folds, and— _no_. He had to stop thinking like this. These thoughts had to stop _now_. But the Doctor didn’t want to turn away from the things he was feeling right then; not when he was looking at so much of her bare flesh, his jacket draped over her as if to tell him, _She’s already yours._

Rose felt warmth wash over her from the heat of his gaze. She moved toward him and took his hand. “Doctor?” she said, “You can touch it, if you want.” she whispered, placing his calloused palm against the bare skin of her hip. Her heart was racing. Where was this sudden surge of bravery coming from? She’d never made a move before, despite his long looks; not even after Downing Street.

“Rose? Rose, I, I, I don’t, I don’t think I should, should be, t-t-touching—“

“—but I want you to touch,” she said, squeezing his hand to curl it around her hip before sliding her own hand up his arm and squeezing his shoulder. She put her other arm over his opposite shoulder and smoothed her palm over the back of his neck, gripping gently. Her eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips and back again.

The Doctor allowed himself to lose a little bit more control; he dared let his thumb smooth little circles over the little green patch of newly-applied ink. His touch was so feather-light, so hesitant; Rose shivered at it, goose bumps rippling across her flesh. He sighed and reached down with his other hand, moving his fingers up and over her stomach, his fingers slipping under the hem of her top, stopping when his palm came to rest over her navel. 

Rose’s breath was shaky, and the Doctor could feel her quickening heartbeat pounding against his palm. He considered for a moment moving away from her, but instead he took another step forward, closing the small distance between them as best he could, sliding his hand back down to curl around her other hip. She squeezed the round of his shoulder with one hand, and the fingertips of the other danced lazily over the short, soft hair at his neckline. 

They gazed into each other’s eyes, his blue ones peering intensely; he seemed not only to be looking _at_ her, but _into_ her. “Rose,” he whispered. She smiled and tilted her head ever-so-slightly; glancing at his lips several times before he finally leaned in and covered her mouth with his own.

Warmth flooded through her and her heart quickened at the feel of his lips against hers, soft and pliant, their heads tilted at opposite angles, noses brushing against one another’s cheeks. Hesitantly, the Doctor parted his lips to make way for his tongue, which lightly stroked the seam of Rose’s mouth, asking entrance. Rose parted her lips, nearly electric with the anticipation, the moment seeming to hang suspended in Time for eternity before she felt his tongue slip between her parted lips. His tongue was cool and soft against hers; exploring her curves of her mouth reticently, as though he were afraid she’d stop him at any moment.

The Doctor felt as though he couldn’t breathe (in fact, his respiratory bypass had already kicked in), and struggled to maintain control. He was actually kissing Rose Tyler; her lips were plump and hot against his, the wet curves of her mouth sending chills down his spine. He felt guilty, but his guilt was being quickly surpassed by his anticipation. All of the reasons he shouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —be doing this floated away and burst one by one like soap bubbles. The hand not clutching her tattooed hip slid around to the small of her back, under the jacket he’d draped over her, and under the hem of her t-shirt. He pulled her flush against him, and he felt her left hand slide from his shoulder down to his chest. For an instant, he thought she was going to push him away, but instead her fingers curled ineffectually at the fabric of his jumper, palm pressing softly against him.

As the Doctor pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, she moved her hand over his chest. She felt the beat of his right heart against her palm, her fingers twitching against this lean chest. She swirled her tongue against his, eager to reassure him that this was exactly what she wanted. Her hand skirted down and curled around his ribs, holding him to her gently. She worried that if she pulled him to her too forcefully, it would break this spell they were both under; if she didn’t pull hard enough, he would think she didn’t want this. And _oh_ , did she ever want this. She moved her hand lower and slipped her fingertips under the hem of his jumper.

As soon as Rose’s fingertips made contact with his skin, he sighed, his fingers at her back twitching against her smooth skin, his hand automatically drawing her closer. They reversed angles; his nose now brushing against her left cheek, and hers against his right. The warmth of her skin radiated out in every direction from where her palm pressed into his flesh, and he had to struggle to control that heat when it reached his groin.

Rose could feel that her breathing was unsteady. Every line of her body was pressed to his, and she was hyper-aware of all that places where flesh touched flesh—his mouth over hers, her hand at his waist, his hand at the small of her back—she wanted more. A whimper escaped into her mouth between two ragged breaths, and finally they parted. The Doctor tipped his forehead against hers.

“Rose,” he whispered, “I, I, I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said. “Kissing you,” he paused, and gave her hip a squeeze, “Holding you, like, like _this_? I don’t, I don’t deserve this.” He brought his hand from her hip to cup her face, sliding his palm across her cheek and allowing his fingertips to slip into her hair. He moved away slightly, just far enough away that he could look in her eyes and see her face properly, reclaiming his hand slowly, dragging his fingers gently over her cheek.

Rose leaned into his touch, his fingertips sending chills along her neck and warmth into the pit of her belly. He brought his fingers across her lips, his eyes cast down on them as though they were a riddle he needed to solve. She kissed them lightly before removing her hand from under his jumper to take his hand and hold it, giving it a gentle squeeze. She put it back on her hip, and looked him in the eye, “This is what I want, Doctor. I want you. I jus’—I jus’ wish you could see in yo’rself all the things I see. I, I,” she stammered, unable to get out the words she was really feeling, “I _really_ care for you. A lot.”

With those words, the Doctor stopped her mouth with a kiss and slid the hand at the small of her back up over her shoulder blades, pushing his jacket off of her before finding her hair, curling his fingers into the blonde tresses, all evidence of hesitation gone from his lips. 

Rose felt her knees turn to jelly, and she sagged into the Doctor’s arms. Their kiss was passionate and languid, and she felt the warmth in her belly crescendo; she began to ache for him, and could feel that her knickers were damp. “Rose?” he asked, breaking the kiss after several moments.

“Yeah?” she bit her lip.

“Would you like to see my bedroom?”

“Very much.” They reluctantly broke apart, and Rose curled her hand around his as they made their way down the corridor.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

They were standing beside his bed now; Rose could feel the duvet against the back of her legs, but more at the forefront of her attention was the Doctor’s hands. They’d previously been at her hips, but found themselves curled around the swell of her bum. She crossed her arms over her torso and grabbed the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it up and over her head carefully before dropping it on the floor.

The Doctor’s hands wandered over her exposed flesh bringing his hands up her sides slowly to cup her breasts over her bra. He stroked her curving flesh slightly a few times before giving he breasts a gentle squeeze; actions that made Rose sigh and lean into his neck. She placed her upturned lips against the soft flesh at his throat, and he let out a quiet groan. He allowed his fingers to trace along the top of her bra, shyly dipping his fingers under the fabric to allow the backs of his fingers to glide along her creamy, supple flesh. She twisted her arm behind her and undid the clasp of her bra.

He followed suit, pulling his jumper off; Rose waited until it hit the floor to allow the straps of her bra to slip down her narrow shoulders and reveal her to the Doctor. Her bra hit the floor almost silently. The look she saw in his eyes humbled her and thrilled her in the same moment; he looked almost reverent as his eyes explored the swells of her body, and the thought of having his attention—after all the life he lived and all the things he’d seen—focused solely on her made the ache between her thighs grow more intense.

The Doctor urged Rose to sit on the bed, then lay back. Once they’d centered themselves in the bed, he situated himself over her, torso tucked between her thighs as he kissed the area above her navel and worked his way to the valley between her breasts. He was propped up on his elbows, hands caressing her breasts, fingers playing gently at her nipples. He moved one hand to replace it with his mouth, and when he curled his lips around her nipple, she gasped. She fought against the urge to buck her hips into him, and let out a small moan deep in her throat. His tongue twirled over her sensitive flesh for several more seconds before he replaced his hand and turned his attentions to her other breast. He ran his fingertips over the outer swells of her breasts, and down her ribs causing her to arch her back, pressing her breasts and belly even further against him. His hands continued to trail down, getting to her waist and he realized (with a swell of male pride) that she was trembling. Trembling _for him._ He hooked her trousers and knickers with his fingers and began to slowly slide them down as one over her lean form.

Rose felt an exhilarating rush as the cool air of the room met her skin, at the cool touch of his fingertips drawing across her thighs, the slight scratch of his nails along her skin. She felt shy when his eyes fell upon her curls, squirming a little before he refocused on fully freeing her legs from her trousers. He dropped them to the floor and made a slow crawl up her body, her breath catching as she felt the warm air of the Doctor’s breath rippling across the skin of her inner thighs. He urged her legs open gently, making room for him to settle between them. She was feeling self-conscious as she looked down at him, gazing intently at her sex. He reached out and delicately stroked her folds with his fingertips.

He was so close to Rose’s center; he could smell her want, her _need_ , and when he caressed the soft flesh with his fingers, she sighed. He teased her this way for several minutes, savoring the sounds of her breathing as it became more and more ragged. He curled his arms under her legs and rested his hands on her hips before leaning in and allowing his breath to cascade across her tender, pink flesh. He ran his tongue softly over her opening before curling his lips around her clit. Rose squirmed; the Doctor had to press his palms into her skin to keep her movements to a minimum. He swirled his tongue over her again and again, alternating occasionally to dip his tongue into her. She tasted as beautiful as she looked, keening and mewling beneath his ministrations.

“Doctor,” she sighed, her hands clutching ineffectually at the duvet beside her. He responded with a quiet hum of approval and carefully slid two fingers into her. “Doctor!” she called out again, louder this time. He set up a rhythm, his tongue circling her clit in firm, even strokes as his fingers worked slowly and firmly against her inner walls.

Rose felt like every inch of her skin was on fire; it was as though her whole body was blushing at the force of his motions, and she could feel her pleasure coiling low in her gut like a spring. She rocked her hips gently into his movements, her toes curling and uncurling against the brown fabric of the duvet. The Doctor quickened his pace in the slightest, and Rose couldn’t help but throw her head back against the pillows and let out a deep and powerful sigh. She was holding her breath now, the coil in her belly winding tighter and tighter; she could feel that it was going to snap at any moment, and when it did, she moaned loudly and called out, “Doctor!”

When she came, the Doctor could feel her muscles clench his fingers; he continued to roll circles over her clit, soothing her sensitive nerves as she rode out the last of her orgasm. He withdrew his fingers from her and swiped his tongue across her opening. He wanted to taste her in this moment, lap up the evidence of her pleasure and feel her quiver beneath him. “Doctor, make love to me,” she sighed. It was a question and a plea, and he could hear the smile in her voice without even looking up.

“Are you sure, Rose?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anythin’. I want you to make love to me.” her voice trembled, from residual pleasure or fear of rejection, she wasn’t certain. All she knew was that she _needed_ him. She needed to feel him, needed him close to her, inside of her. The Doctor stood and wiped his chin before undoing his belt buckle and pushing his jeans down.

It was now. It was going to happen. He was going to make love to Rose Tyler. He finally let go of the control he’d been struggling to maintain at his groin, and instantly his cock began to swell and harden. He nearly gasped at the force of it, finally getting the nerve to hook his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and remove them too. He climbed back into bed and curled into Rose’s side, her hot skin erotic and beautiful against his own.

“You are gorgeous,” she smiled, taking in the sight of his thin body and broad shoulders. She ran a hand along his chest, feeling his hearts race under her palm before ghosting her fingertips across his ribs, over his hip, and curling her wrist around so she could squeeze his bum. She pulled him to her and turned her head toward him for a kiss.

Again there was a fire behind the kiss, but it was gentle and exploratory. The Doctor broke away to nuzzle her neck, darting his tongue out to taste the sweat there, nibbling, nipping, sucking, savoring every smell and scent and sensation that was _Rose._ She sighed and reached between them to stroke him lightly several times. She was hesitant, and her feather-light touch was almost too much to bear. He involuntarily pressed his hips against her.

“Rose, I want you,” he whispered raggedly into her ear.

“I want you too, Doctor. I’m ready,” she replied quietly, squeezing him gently a final time.

He repositioned himself over her, her thighs pressed to his hips, propped up on his elbows to properly look at her face. Her arms were threaded beneath his and embraced him around the middle. He looked down at her with so much love in his eyes, and she looked up at him with adoration. She could see hesitancy there.

“What’s the matter?” she asked gently.

“It, it, it’s been…it’s been awhile since I’ve—“

“It’s alright,” she said, stroking his back with one hand while the other slipped between them and took hold of him, “I’ve got you,” she guided him to her opening.

The Doctor groaned as he pushed slowly into her, sinking into her as far as he could go before going still above her. He slid one arm under her so he could curl his hand up and around her shoulder. The other hand, he raised to her cheek. He cupped it gently, before combing his fingers through her hair and tucking her loose locks behind her ear. He kissed her lips again and started to move arching his back and rolling his hips to deliver, slow, firm, deep strokes. The feel of her all around him was overwhelming, his breath was ragged, and moans fell from his lips mingled with words he barely had the presence of mind to take note of.

Rose rolled her hips to meet his. When his lips weren’t pressed to hers, they were showering her with endearments, “Rose…so beautiful…fantastic…powerful woman…compassionate.” Other words she didn’t recognize at all, but the beauty of them, and the emotion behind them brought tears to her eyes. She fought every urge to say the three words she’d captured in her throat. She couldn’t say them first. She couldn’t. What if she said, _I love you,_ and he didn’t say it back? If she said those words to him and he didn’t say them back, she thought it might break her. 

She was happy to be in this moment with him, she allowed _now_ to be all that mattered, _now_ was all she needed just then; covered by his body, feeling him move inside of her, the pulse of his double heartbeat against her chest echoing between her thighs, his words of adulation. She clung to him in the dim light of his bedroom, moving with him, against him, around him until she was drowning in the sensation of him. She took his hand in hers and placed it at her temple, leaning into the touch as she did so. He brought the fingertips of his other hand to the opposite side, leaning heavily on one elbow, maintaining a precarious balance as he continued to move inside of her. He leaned in once more to kiss her full, pouting lips before carefully penetrating her mind.

Rose gasped beneath him as his mind reached for hers. It was far more intense a sensation than the once she’d experienced in the tattoo parlor. Before, he’d brushed at the edges of her mind; this time, he was enveloped in it. She allowed him to sink deeper into her mind, and she tried to reach out to his. When she felt her mind slip into his, he gasped.

“Rose!” he called out speeding up his thrusts as the he felt his orgasm approach. She repeated the action, even though she wasn’t quite sure what she had done, and it was then that the Doctor cried out, thrusting erratically several times before stilling above her. She could feel him in her mind, shaking, sated, and warm, before he slowly withdrew from her mind. She opened her eyes again and saw him looking down at her in awe. Their faces broke into identical smiles and they kissed again. They disentangled themselves and Rose turned onto her side, the Doctor curling himself up along her back one arm tucked under his pillow, and the other curled around Rose’s torso, his hand cupping her breast and holding her close.

Rose tried to fight off the sleep that was attempting to take her. She feared she would find this was all a dream, but more than that, she just wanted to savor this moment just a bit longer. But her eyes felt heavy, her body tired, relaxed, and thoroughly shagged; she felt into an easy sleep. The Doctor stayed where he was, smiling into her hair as it tickled his face. Faintly, he heard the door of the TARDIS open.

“Honey! I’m home!” Jack’s voice echoed faintly down the corridor. The Doctor rolled his eyes as he heard Jack chuckle to himself, then heard his footfalls move in the direction of his own room. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the American; had it not been for Jack’s shameless flirting, he might not have gotten the courage to admit to himself how he felt about Rose. Rose wouldn’t have seen his jealousy flare, and realize for herself what his true feelings were. Oh, how could she not have known? He’d all but said, _“I love you,”_ in Downing Street.

He hugged her close again and took a deep breath, taking in the scent of her fruity shampoo. Yes. He would rather lose a whole world than one Rose Tyler. “I love you,” he whispered into her hair.


End file.
